Chapter 1: RIKIMARU
(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.
The Newly-Liberated Lands of Quel'Thalas
Satyrs are regarded as the bearers of bad luck in any human community. Their dark-hued skins are indications of nothing sweet or good. No one in their wildest imaginations would suspect one single satyr to fight for moral-driven goals.
Although humans were the first to witness the trickery and betrayal of the satyrs, the Night Elf race also had a sad history with these creatures. In the race against the destruction of the Frozen Throne, Maeiv Shadowsong was on the Demon Hunter, Illidan's tail. Illidan had brought the Night Elf Warden and her watchers across the sea and into the plagued lands of Lordaeron where a civil war was about to brew. Illidan who evaded Maiev day and night allied himself with the Naga and the Satyrs. This connection brought about the stereotype against satyrs. For these peace-loving elves, there was every reason to hate and despise satyrs...
Rikimaru was a satyr and he knew all of these facts. His mother being the wife of a Corrupted Ancients leader told him all of these by the time he had matured into adulthood. Rikimaru was young and unusually inquisitive. This trait actually led him into many troubles often with the blood elf race whom the satyrs allied with in the recent liberation of Quel'Thalas.
Rikimaru like any maturing satyr had his trusty weapon, the scythe. It was to be used not only for reaping and sowing in the fields but also for battling in war. The alliance with the blood elves also gave the satyrs and opportunity of a proper war. These elves were constantly at war against the Undead Scourge who had settled here for the past five years. With the satyrs' power of cunning and trickery, the blood elves no longer need to hide in the forests and mountains anymore. With the satyrs' help, they had reclaimed their homeland.
News of the constant war always came everyday through the mid-morning lectures of the old elven priest who lived in the town square. He was Quel'Thalas' messenger and often travelled back and forth, from the battle zones south west of the region to the city of Silvermoon which blood elves and satyrs had inhabited.
Every morning, when dawn breaks, the priest can be seen teaching his accomplices the art of healing and magic. For hours they would stand there in the middle of the square and practice the calm movements of the body which was the center of all power within. Then before the sun would reach its peak, the crowd of people waiting for the news in the war zone would approach him and question him immediately.
It was always like this. And it seemed very routine for Rikimaru to attend these lectures everyday.
One day, after the morning exercises with his elven accomplices, the priest smiled his big smile creasing many wrinkles in that very tired face.
"We have already confirmed the fact that the Scourge has two enemies: our union of races and the Undead Forsaken. And I could say that things couldn't have been better." he said rather calmly.
Many gasped at the news. Some found it very amusing. Others were way over their heads.
"How can it be that you're pleased?" called an elder satyr. "War is never a happy thought."
"We are at war, my friend," the old elf chuckled. "The happiest thought we could think of these days are thoughts of victory."
"Will we win?" called a young elf child.
"Over the Scourge, most probably," the priest said firmly. "But the Forsaken, that is another story."
Then the very thought that had been bothering Rikimaru for a while burst from his lips. "Elf brother, does war never end? My father died in the hands of Night Elves. My kinsman and yours are now dying in the hands of those from the Netherworld. Does it never end?"
The elf priest eyed Rikimaru carefully. "Understand that our world is in peril. We must take into account events that lead to war after war. The invasion of the Burning Legion and the coming of the Undead was too much in our history that wars would be inevitable in the present time."
"Wars have been going on since I could remember. Stories and legends speak of wars countlessly. It's as if our world has been plunged into centuries of battle and has not yet risen from the dark waters of war."
The priest stared at Rikimaru and at no one else. It was quite a calculating stare as he were being scanned inside out. "You are quite an observant one, my friend."
The priest then turned away from him. Noticing the gesture, Rikimaru almost laughed. The priest had no answers for him! What kind of warrior who fights in battle almost everyday doesn't know the meaning of war?
Soon, when the bells in the town square began to ring, the crowd slowly dispersed. Rikimaru himself was about to leave had he not felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. At the moment, the wind was blowing harder than ever. As the day was reaching noon, the winds from the east were now crashing down on the villages of Silvermoon. He knew the hand touching him belonged to the priest.
"What is your name?" the elf spoke without any hint of anger that Rikimaru thought he had.
"Rikimaru, son of the Farimaru from the Glades of Tirisfal," Rikimaru faced the priest and replied, not at all ashamed in revealing his bleak history.
"Farimaru, king of the Corrupted Ancient dominion?" the elf priest looked startled. "King of the pure-blood satyr race?"
"I am not my father."
The priest eyed him carefully. Rikimaru knew what was on his mind. He knew the priest was doubting whether to trust him as is with everyone who knew the history of his father.
"You are destined for great things, Rikimaru," the priest said rather simply. "From the moment you asked me about the war, I knew you we're not like the rest of your kin who unlike you have intermarried with other races. You are from the purest satyrs and have inherited their curious nature whereas these others are nothing but followers. Thus, the greatest leaders are those who question and take a stand."
Rikimaru was surprised. What was this elf talking about? Just a while ago, the priest was speechless at his inquisitive remarks.
The priest grinned at Rikimaru. "You said earlier that we are plunged into centuries of battle. I tell you now that our chance to rise from these dark waters will come soon. I foresee another war coming, a war that would be greater than anything we've experienced so far. If this war would be won, our world would become free."
Rikimaru stared unbelieving at the priest. "What are you on about?"
The priest continued to just grin at Rikimaru. "Follow me and I will show you...
The priest started to walk. He was as graceful as the elves always were; his year-old spell book was dangling awkwardly on his side. Rikimaru followed, not at all believing what trouble he was now headed to.
"Where are we going?"
"To the West Tower." The priest was pointing at one of Silvermoon's tall skyscrapers. It was high enough to make even the bravest elf dizzy.
One thousand three hundred forty-two steps later, Rikimaru and the priest were standing in front of the wide window at the topmost floor of the tower. It had taken almost the rest of the day to scale the building but Rikimaru was used to these types of exercises. Surprisingly, the priest too did not seem tired and Rikimaru concluded that he must've come up here a thousand times for the priest to endure such a trip.
"This window, looking to the west, shows the Tirisfal Glades and everything below it."
Rikimaru noticed the darkness of the landmass in front of him. Thousands of kilometers of black rotting soil lay bare before him.
The priest continued, "Farther west lies the Great Ocean. From there, rumors arise of the return of the Horde."
"The Horde? I've heard of that before..."
The priest nodded. "It was during your father's time that the Horde left these lands. Just before the attack on the Burning Legion, the orcs fled to the western lands to seek refuge."
Rikimaru suddenly remembered in a flashback, a story that his mother had told him so many years ago. It was one of those legend-like tales that didn't seem real. It was said that the Orcish Horde, under the rule of a great orc warrior, left these lands shortly before the Undead came upon Lordaeron. A part of the Alliance also left Lordaeron and Rikimaru assumed, after much research that these two races fought under one banner against the might of the Burning Legion in another distant land.
"Why have they come back?" Rikimaru asked apprehensively.
"That is one rumor worth figuring out," the priest said. "Another rumor that is equally worth it is why the Alliance have followed them to these lands, too."
"The Alliance?! But that makes up all those who fled from the Burning Legion!"
"Exactly." the priest raised one stubby finger. "That's where you come in, Rikimaru. I need you to figure these two things out. Along the way, I think you'll also figure out the meaning of all this fighting."
Rikimaru looked dumbstruck. "You... ask me...?"
"As I have said, you are uniquely different from your kinsman, Rikimaru," the priest sighed a bit. "It is also time to live up to your father's standards."
"But..."
"It is late. And I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow morning. Good night, Rikimaru, son of Farimaru. You have my blessing."
Rikimaru had nothing else to say about the matter. He was utterly surprised to be suddenly tasked to do something for the priest. But as the old man began descending the one thousand three hundred forty-two steps down, Rikimaru couldn't help but think that this mission was his purpose in life after all...
